


Don't Ask

by dance_across



Category: due South
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, DSSS Treat, First Kiss, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Parallel Stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5518670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_across/pseuds/dance_across
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's always on top. That's just how it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Ask

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spuffyduds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Не спрашивай](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12901497) by [Luna44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna44/pseuds/Luna44)



> Thanks to FBN for the beta!

Ray’s always on top. That’s just how it is.

There was Stella for a whole bunch of years, obviously, and he’s pretty sure that was one of the things she liked about him. How pushy he was, how he always took what he wanted from her—but how he always listened and backed off when she told him he’d crossed a line, or was about to.

There was Stella, and there was Lilly for a few months, just after college when he and Stella were on the outs. (He remembers that first night with Lilly vividly, still. Taking her home from that club, pinning her wrists against the back of his front door, feeling her squirm against him as she laughed softly and angled her face up for another kiss.) And there were a few other women, too. One-night stands. Nobody special. But all of them, every single one, more than willing to let him take the lead.

You might say that Ray has a type.

What Ray might say, though, is that his job is most of his life, and it’s the kind of job that bombards you, constantly, with proof that you can’t control the world around you. So it’s only natural that Ray should want one little area of his life where he _can_ have a little bit of control. 

What Ray might also say is that being on top is just part of being a man.

\- - -

Ben’s always on the bottom. That’s just how it is.

There was Victoria for a handful of days, of course, and he’s pretty sure that was one of the things she liked about him. How pliable he was, how he always let her take what she wanted from him—but how he was always more than willing to steer things for a while when she was too spent to exert her control over him anymore. 

There was Victoria, and there was Mark for a few weeks, back up north before Ben even properly knew what sex was. (He remembers that first time with Mark vividly, still. Walking him home from hockey practice, following along as Mark shut his bedroom door behind them, squirming beneath Mark when he pinned Ben to the bed, then realizing just how oddly good this closeness felt, and angling his face up to look at his friend clearly for, maybe, the first time ever.) And there were a few other people, too. Kisses, but nothing more than that. Nobody special enough for anything more than that. But all of them, every single one, more than willing to take the lead.

You might say that Ben has a type.

What Ben might say, though, is that his job is most of his life, and it’s the kind of job that forces you, constantly, to try and exert some measure of control on the world around you. So it’s only natural that Ben should want one little area of his life where he doesn’t have to try and control anything at all.

What Ben might also say is that being on the bottom is just part of being himself.

\- - -

Ray got his perp—the guy who, they’re pretty sure, has been mugging people all around downtown for the past two weeks. He won’t confess to anything, but he won’t shut up, either. Keeps yelling stuff about Jesus and the end of the world happening in forty-three hours, even as Huey grabs his arm and pushes him into the squad car. And Ray’s had just about enough.

Sure, he’s standing there grinning at Mr. Apocalypse Now, because he wants the guy’s last view of him to be Triumphant Ray, not Pissed Off Ray. But underneath, he’s vibrating with rage. Two hours they spent chasing this asshole, and what’s Ray got to show for it? A bruised jaw, a split lip, and a crazy fucker who’ll probably get off on an insanity plea.

“It’ll be all right,” says Fraser quietly, beside him, as they watch the squad car drive away.

Ray kicks the wall on his other side. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to feel like he’s doing something. “Like fuck it will.”

“Ray,” says Fraser. And then Ray feels his partner’s hand, big and warm and firm, on the back of his neck. It feels like an anchor.

He stops vibrating. He falls still. He breathes deeply.

Fraser goes on: “You did your part, and you did it well. It’s out of our hands now. All right?”

“All right,” says Ray, and finds that he actually means it.

Fraser’s thumb rubs back and forth on the skin of his neck, just a little, before he pulls his hand away again—and Ray has this crazy moment where he wants that hand back.

 _That’s how it’d feel_ , he thinks wildly. _That’s how it’d feel if he—if we—if—_

But that’s just nuts. He doesn’t swing that way. Never has, never will.

\- - -

Ben is senior enough that he rarely gets assigned to sentry duty anymore. The rare days when he does are usually the result of someone else taking a vacation and the Consulate being shorthanded.

Today, though, it’s because the Inspector is in a foul mood, and has apparently decided to take it out on Ben. Was it the stain on her jacket that the dry-cleaner didn’t get out? Was it the Greek ambassador having gotten too familiar with her the previous evening? Was it something that Ben himself had done? He tried to ask. He tried to offer his support. And this was what he’d gotten in return: a reassignment for the day.

“Ooh, look, he’s so handsome!” comes a voice, female and high-pitched, from somewhere to his left. Ben keeps his face neutral as the voice’s owner approaches in a cloud of floral perfume. “You think it’s okay to take a picture?”

Another woman steps right into Ben’s field of vision. “Don’t see why not,” she replies, and holds up a camera.

Neutral, neutral. Ben has been through this hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. He can handle this. He can handle the hand sliding across his back and hooking onto his shoulder. He can handle the slight pressure of a body pressed up against his side. He can handle the giggle a little too close to his ear, and even the voice whispering, “I mean it. You’re so cute, you really are. What’s your name?” And he can handle the “Oh, come on, just tell me. I won’t tell anybody you talked. Come on,” when he refuses to reply.

The camera clicks. The flash goes off. The woman beside him gives his shoulder a little squeeze, and he wills her to step away. She has her picture. She can leave now, just like all the rest.

But she hesitates; he can feel it. There’s hesitation, and then there’s a body stepping around to his front. He sees her face clearly for the first time. She’s young. Pretty. Slightly drunk, if the glassy eyes are anything to go by. She smiles at him. He focuses on keeping his breathing normal.

“Come on, Sarah!” says her friend. “Don’t bother him.”

Sarah hesitates just a few seconds longer, then stands on her tip-toes and presses a quick kiss to Ben’s lips. Yes, she’s definitely drunk. He can smell it on her breath.

“Omigod, I can’t believe I did that!” she exclaims, and then, giggling, grabs her friend’s hand and runs off down the sidewalk.

Ben, unfortunately, can absolutely believe that she did that. She isn’t the first, nor will she likely be the last. He breathes in and out, in and out, steadily as he can. And that’s when he sees it: Ray’s car, parked across the street, window rolled down. Ray is watching him. He saw the whole thing.

Thirty-four minutes later, when his shift is over, Ben doesn’t even bother going back inside the Consulate to change. He simply wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and heads straight for the car.

Ray doesn’t say anything until they’re almost at the diner. Then, staring straight ahead, hands at ten and two on the wheel, he asks stiffly, “That happen a lot?”

Ben considers feigning ignorance and dodging the question, but he simply doesn’t have the energy. “Not as often as it used to,” he replies. “More often than I’d like.”

Ray considers this, then says, firmly and emphatically, “Sucks.”

 _Yes_ , thinks Ben. _It does suck. That’s what it does. It sucks._

He smiles. “Ray? Let’s not go to the diner tonight.”

Ray looks over at him. “Then where?”

Ben doesn’t know. He didn’t have an alternative plan, just a profound sense of wanting this evening to be different than the rest. So he says the first place that pops into his mind: “Carmello’s.”

“Where’s—oh, that Italian joint near the Vecchio place?”

“Yes, I’d like to go there tonight,” says Ben, and off they go.

They pull into the parking lot, where Ray hands the keys over to the valet. Ben leads the way into the restaurant, asks for a table for two, and orders for them both. Two steaks, well done for him and medium rare for Ray. He sits up straight and leaves his hat on. He speaks as loudly as he likes. And at the end, he insists on paying.

“Come on,” says Ray. “That was some pricey shit.”

“Yes, and eating expensively was my idea,” says Ben. “Let me pay.”

It feels reckless and unfamiliar, the version of himself that Ben is playing tonight. People are staring at him, even more than usual. (He decides not to care.) The waitress’s gaze lingers a little too long on his uniform. (Her nametag says _Sarah_ , just like the girl outside the Consulate. Ben reminds himself, over and over, that if this Sarah should decide to touch him inappropriately—not that she would—he can say something. He can tell her to stop.) Even Ray keeps shooting him odd glances. Now especially, as he considers whether or not to argue in favor of splitting the bill, Ray is looking at him very strangely indeed.

“Okay,” Ray says at last. “But two things. First, I’ll pay next time. Second, this ain’t a date.”

A date? Is Ray making a joke? Ben can’t tell. If he is, then Ben probably ought to refrain from pointing out that it isn’t very funny. And if he isn’t… if Ray somehow knows…

 _This is what it would be like_ , says a small voice in the back of his brain. _This is how it would be if we—if Ray_ let _me—if—_

But Ray is grinning now, and he says, “Come on, Fraser, I’m kidding. Lighten up.”

Ben makes himself smile, and tries not to notice the tightness that settles in his chest as Ray drives him silently home.

\- - -

Somewhere in the bowels of a sinking ship, Ray learns what buddy breathing is. A few days later, he looks it up on the Web. Yes, it’s real. Yes, it’s standard procedure.

 _Thank fuck_ , he tells himself, and ignores the feeling of disappointment that lurks, all but unnoticed, in the back of his head.

\- - -

Parked in front of the Botrelle home, Ben watches Ray slump over his steering wheel and cry. A few minutes later, he tells Ray to switch seats with him, and refuses to comply when Ray asks Ben to drive him home. He drives them to the Consulate. He marches Ray inside and sits him down on the couch.

“Tea,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

“Whiskey,” Ray counters. “Beer. Wine. Whatever you got. I just can’t be sober right now.”

Ben fixes him with a hard glare. “Chamomile tea. Or you’ll feel even worse in the morning.”

Ray shakes his head, slumping further down into the couch cushions. “Fraser, you don’t get it, I gotta—”

“Listen to me,” says Ben. “You’re my partner, and I love you. Let me take care of you.”

Ray glares at him, and for a few long seconds Ben is certain that Ray is about to pick a fight. Over the word _love_ , over the tea, over the idea that he needs taking care of. Over anything at all.

But he doesn’t. He just looks back down and says, “Fine, whatever.”

Ben makes chamomile tea. They drink it together in silence. It’s only when Ben begins to gather their cups for washing that Ray asks, “The love thing—you don’t mean in a gay way, right?”

Ben freezes. He’s tempted to lie; lying would set Ray’s mind at ease, and that is what Ray needs right now. But he can’t bring himself to do it. Not outright, anyway.

“I… that is… there are many kinds of love, Ray.”

“’Cause I’m into women. You know that. Right, Fraser? You know that, right?”

Their eyes lock. Ben, clutching two empty mugs so hard that he’s genuinely afraid they might break. Ray, folded defiantly into a corner of the couch, glaring and glaring like he’s got everything to prove.

“I’m attracted to women too, Ray,” Ben says quietly. “That fact, however, does not preclude my also being attracted to—ah, to certain men.”

Ray’s lips go tight. An odd expression passes over his face. For a moment, Ben can’t breathe.

“I gotta go,” says Ray, standing up. “Thanks for the tea.”

Ben doesn’t move an inch until he hears the car’s engine roar to life, then grow fainter and fainter as Ray drives away.

\- - -

“Sorry I ran out last night, Frase. Just wanted to say. You know. It’s cool if you’re… if you… it’s just that I’m _not_. That’s all. But we’re still buddies, right? Buddies?”

\- - -

“Ray, that’s a stoplight. Ray. Ray. Ray. _Ray_. No, don’t apologize. Just pay attention, please.”

\- - -

“How about pizza tonight, Frase? Or not, if you don’t wanna. Whatever you feel like, is what I’m saying. You pick.”

\- - -

“Yes, I’m well aware that you can take care of yourself. I’m also aware that you have no First Aid kit at your apartment, whereas I do have one at the Consulate. Now will you please drive us there and let me take care of that cut?”

\- - -

It isn’t that Ray is confused, really, by his thing for Fraser. It’s more that he doesn’t really get how it’s supposed to fit into his life.

Fraser makes him feel cared for, which isn’t a thing he ever thought he’d want. But here he is, wanting it. Actually _liking_ it when, say, Fraser insists they go to a hospital to make sure it’s not a concussion, or when he insists Ray take a lunch break because his blood sugar is clearly low.

It’s good to give up control once in a while.

He just wishes, sometimes, that he could stop noticing the fluid confidence in the way Fraser’s hands move. Or the crease that appears between Fraser’s brows whenever he’s concentrating on something. Or how blue his eyes are. He _has_ to stop that stuff, and he has to stop it soon. He’s straight, end of story. Straight guys don’t notice stuff like that.

They just don’t.

\- - -

It isn’t that Ben is confused, exactly, by his attraction to Ray. It’s more that he’s quite certain that Ray is also attracted to _him_ , yet seems stubbornly reluctant to admit as much.

Plus Ray brings out the dominant side of him, which isn’t a thing he ever thought he’d enjoy. And yet here he is, enjoying it. Actually _liking_ it when, for example, Ray defers to him in the matter of where and when to have dinner, or when he follows Ben’s instructions to the exact letter when in pursuit of a criminal, then looks proud of himself for doing so.

It’s good to be in control once in a while.

He only wishes, sometimes, that he could stop noticing the way Ray looks at him, especially when he thinks Ben can’t see. Or the hunch of Ray’s shoulders when he knows he’s been caught looking. Or how sad his eyes are. He _has_ to stop noticing those things, and he has to stop it soon. They are friends, and nothing more. Friends don’t lie awake fantasizing about kissing their aggressively straight partners. 

They just don’t.

\- - -

 _This_ , Ray thinks, _will be an excellent way to stop thinking about Fraser like that._

He’s at a bar, a seedy little place that he doesn’t know the name of, and he’s finally spotted a woman who looks like a good bet. Pretty, probably about his age, sensible heels and a small purse and clothes that are nice but not show-offy. She walks in and orders a drink for herself, which, in Ray’s experience, usually means she’s not waiting for anyone. He keeps an eye on her for a bit, just to see if she’s keeping an eye on the door (she’s not), and then, when she’s about to finish whatever’s in her glass, he sidles over to her and offers to buy her a second drink.

She lets him. They talk for a little while. She’s nice. Smart, too. A veterinarian. She spends about twenty minutes not bothering to hide the fact that she’s sizing him up—but when he asks if she wants to open a bottle of wine at his place, she gives him some line about having to get up early the next day. It’s an easy let-down, and a polite one, and they part ways on good terms.

Ray’s disappointed, obviously, but that’s not the reason he goes home early. The real reason for that is he’s tired. Tired of always making the first move, just because he’s a man and that’s what men are supposed to do.

He wants someone to pursue _him_ for a change.

\- - -

 _This_ , Ben thinks, _will be an excellent way to stop thinking about Ray like that._

He’s at the Consulate, but he hasn’t yet retired to his office for the night, because Inspector Thatcher is still here, working late. She’s told him repeatedly that she won’t need anything more from him tonight, but he lingers about her office just in case she changes her mind. And just in case of other things, too. They’ve kissed before, Ben and his superior officer, and he found it quite enjoyable—but he hasn’t yet managed to ascertain whether she’d be interested in pursuing things on a more… _consistent_ basis. Tonight, when she finally sets down her pen and rubs her temples with her fingers, Ben approaches her and asks if he might walk her home.

She lets him. They talk for a while. She’s nice, and smart, as he knew she was, and as they talk he can’t help wondering if she’s thinking about kissing him—but when he asks if he might walk her to the door of her apartment, instead of merely to the door to her building, she says she can handle it from here. They part ways amicably, saying they’ll see one another tomorrow.

Ben is disappointed, of course, but that’s not the reason he goes home troubled. The real reason for that is he’s tired. Tired of waiting to be wanted, just because he’s a polite person and waiting is what polite people are supposed to do.

He wants, for once… what he _really_ wants…

\- - -

Ray’s almost in bed when he hears the knock on his apartment door. Teeth brushed, face scrubbed, nothing on but boxers and a tank. He figures it’s just one of the neighbors, gonna complain about the crash from earlier (just a broken glass, wasn’t even that loud), so he goes to the door and opens it.

It’s not one of the neighbors.

“May I come in?” asks Fraser, standing there stiffly in full bright-red uniform.

“Uh? Sure…?”

“Thank you.”

Ray stands to the side and watches as Fraser strides—not walks, but really _strides_ —into his living room. “Something up? It’s real late, Frase.”

“Nothing’s up,” says Fraser, glancing at the kitchen, then at the turtle tank, then back at Ray. “I merely wanted to see you.”

It’s the kind of sentence that doesn’t seem to mean what it means. Like, all the words add up to something real simple, but when they all come out of Fraser’s mouth sounding like _this_ , when Fraser’s looking at Ray just like _that_ , they mean something else entirely.

“Well, here I am,” says Ray. “Uh. You want some water or… or I think I got milk? Tea?”

“I’m fine as I am, thank you.” Fraser scratches at his eyebrow—then catches himself, stops, and fixes Ray with a stare again. “I’d like to ask you something.”

Ray’s insides twist up. “What kind of something?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Fraser says. “You may have noticed that I have a history of—No, let me begin again. During the few times that I’ve found myself romantically entangled, I… Oh, dear.”

Ray is not going to throw up. He’s not, he’s not, he’s _not_. “Out with it, buddy,” he manages somehow. “Just say what you gotta say.”

Fraser takes a deep breath. Then another. Then he says, “Ray, in a moment I’m going to ask your permission to kiss you. Preferably whilst I press you up against that wall. That one, just there. I’d… I’d very much like it if you were to say yes.”

God. God god god. Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Allah, Buddha, and whoeverthefuck else. Ray is going to _die_.

He’s going to die because. Okay. _Because_ , the thing is, Ray’s got this instant hard-on from all that stuff coming out of Fraser’s mouth. His whole body wants to say yesyesyesyesyes till the cows come home. But there’s still that stupid little voice in the back of his head saying _no_. Saying _this isn’t what men do_. Saying _straight, straight, straight_.

“Of course,” Fraser continues, when Ray doesn’t answer right away, “if you said no, I would obviously respect your wishes. I hope you know that. But I’m going to ask either way.”

Ray shakes his head. “No.”

Fraser breathes out. “I see. All right, I’ll just—”

“I mean, no, as in, no, don’t ask me,” says Ray. “I don’t… uh, I don’t think it’d be a good idea if you asked. If we talked about it. I might. I think. Um. I think you should just… ya know. Just _do_ it.”

And he waits.

\- - -

And Ben waits. And when Ray doesn’t say anything more, just stands there like he’s bracing himself against an oncoming storm, Ben finally lets those last three words sink in. _Just do it._ That means yes. Ray said yes.

So Ben does what he promised himself that he would do. He takes hold of Ray’s shoulders and backs him against the nearest wall. He looks at Ray, and Ray looks back; Ben swears he can see something softening just behind his eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” says Ben, and then does exactly that. He presses his mouth to Ray’s. He eases Ray’s lips open. He tastes as much of Ray as he can.

Ben presses the length of his body against Ray, and Ray lets him. Ben takes hold of Ray’s face and tilts it up, angling the kiss just so, and Ray lets him. Ben pulls Ray’s T-shirt off, and Ray lets him. Ben reaches for the waistband of Ray’s shorts, and Ray—

“Fraser, hey, wait,” says Ray, breaking the kiss as he grasps Ben’s wrist with one hand. “Hey. You sure about this, buddy?”

“Should I not be?” asks Fraser.

“It’s just…” Ray’s panting a little, and pink about the cheeks. “It’s just, you never struck me as the kinda guy who’d move so… ya know. Fast.”

Ben isn’t that kind of guy, normally. But something changed inside him tonight. Something shifted, just a little, just enough. So he bypasses the parts of his brain that are already forming polite excuses for what he’s doing— _You seem be aroused, you see, and it wouldn’t be kind of me to pretend not to notice_ —and tells Ray, in the plainest possible terms, the truth.

“I want to suck you.” Then, because politeness isn’t as easily shed as all that, he adds, “Will you let me?”

\- - -

Over a decade as a police officer means Ray’s seen some weird-ass shit in his day. But nothing, _nothing_ , has ever shellshocked him as much as what Fraser just said.

Will Ray let him? Will he? Come the fuck _on_.

“Yeah, Fraser,” he says. “Yeah, you go right ahead.”

Ray feels his shorts getting pulled off. He feels Fraser’s hand on him, stroking his crown, his shaft, his balls. Feels one more kiss, then hears a rustle of fabric as Fraser gets down on his knees. And then—oh, and _then_ —

\- - -

Sometimes, Ben still likes being on the bottom. There are days, for instance, when he gets back from a long patrol and feels too exhausted to initiate anything, and there are days when he can sense Ray becoming anxious in the face of the unfamiliar brutality of the Arctic winter, and knows that it would comfort Ray to have a measure of control over something in his life. There are also days when, for no particular reason whatsoever, Ben is in the mood to give himself over to his partner.

On most days, though, the light will hit Ray’s hair in a certain way, or Ray will crook a half-smile at him, and Ben will be consumed with desire. A desire that he always expresses, without hesitation.

Most of the time, Ray begins nodding his agreement before Ben even finishes speaking.

\- - -

Some days, Ray still likes being on top. Days when Fraser’s had it rough and needs a little caring for, or days when it’s been all cold and snow and endless night and he has some extra steam to work off, or just plain old days when he feels like taking charge.

But most days, if Ray waits long enough, Ben will look up from whatever he’s doing and say something like, “Ray, in just a moment I’m going to ask your permission to tie you to the bed after dinner.”

Usually, Ray grins and replies, “Don’t ask me. Just do it.”

Sometimes, though, he just says _yes_.


End file.
